


a ghost out on the water (that has my face)

by plinys



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Demonic Possession, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Mallus!Ava
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: When the voice in her head tells her to make a promise, she does so without hesitating, sitting there in an imaginary world, that is tinted blue, she swears - “I, Ava, do so swear to devote my life and soul-” without even realizing she has a choice in the matter.(or a Mallus!Ava au)





	a ghost out on the water (that has my face)

**Author's Note:**

> Personally I hope that "I, Ava" isn't going to be the episode where they reveal Ava to have been working for Mallus all along, but the idea was too good to pass up, so I spent a whole plane ride writing this fic instead of doing?? Other important things?? 
> 
> Enjoy?

She’s six years old the first time she hears the voice.

A tendril of something, a whisper at the back of her mind.

Her mother always told her not to talk to strangers, but this isn’t a stranger, it’s a voice that knows her name, knows all of her secrets, knows all of the secrets there ever was in all of time. 

It doesn’t seem significant at the time, like a child’s plaything, a voice in the back of her head that tells her when to move, which step to take, which card to place - an imaginary friend that seems to know everything before it happens.

Her imaginary friend knows what the weather will be like, knows when the school bus will be running late, knows that her father will be coming home late from the liquor store. 

Her imaginary friend knows everything that she knows, everything that she could ever want to know, and so she doesn’t question him. 

If he tells her to jump she jumps, with the childlike innocence, she vows to spend her whole life jumping. 

When the voice in her head tells her to make a promise, she does so without hesitating, sitting there in an imaginary world, that is tinted blue, she swears -  _ “I, Ava, do so swear to devote my life and soul-” _ without even realizing she has a choice in the matter.

 

*

 

It's surprisingly easy to hide a body, especially when the voice in the back of her head tells her exactly what to do. 

Easy to kill. 

Easy to hide the evidence. 

Easy to steal the glowing orb that he'd held in his hands.

She holds onto it now, looking at where her blood stained fingerprints had left smudges on the surface of whatever it is.

Something the voice had wanted.

Something she took from a man that didn't belong here. 

“A time traveler,” the woman sitting across from her at the diner tells her. She’s skipping school to be here, something that causes anxiety to stir in her stomach despite the voice in her head assuring her that this is all according to plan and that nobody will even notice her absence. “One not loyal to our master.”

_ Our master. _

The words sit heavy on her mind. The understanding not quite clear, not quite there. But a part of Ava understands it. That she's not the only one to hear a voice in the back of her mind. That this woman must hear him too.

“Mallus,” she calls him.

The name feeling right in Ava’s mind. 

A name that she's always known.

Always had the potential to know.

“And who am I,” she finds herself asking as she hands the orb over. Already mourning the small light that it had held. The warmth it had given her in a moment almost like peace.

She thinks about the man that she had killed. In his rumpled blue suit, the way his eyes had flickered with something almost like recognizing behind his glasses, before she killed him. How he had almost seemed to have been saying her name with his final breath. How she’d taken the pin from his lapel, tucked it in her pocket, a little prize of her own.

“Who am I to Mallus,” she presses this woman - this  _ witch _ .

The witch smiles back at him, a smile with too many teeth. “You’re the bishop, Miss Sharpe.” 

  
  


*

 

“You were in an accident. 

There’s a police officer shining a flashlight into her eyes, too bright, so much that she squeezes her eyes shut to block it out. It doesn't help. The light is still there shining, pounding into the dark reaches of her mind. The empty spaces. 

When she opens her eyes the officer is still there. There’s the flashing red and blues of his car behind him, an ambulance some distance behind that, and then, lights reflecting off of the wrecked and overturned car.

“Can you tell me what you remember?”

She’d blacked out again. 

They were getting more and more frequent now. Patches of time that just didn’t exist.

She’s not entirely certain what the last thing she remembered was, sitting in class maybe. Ava thinks that she’d been at school, trying to remember what was for lunch that day, but then everything else was… A blue tinted blur. 

She’s not even sure what day it is. 

What year it is. 

“Do you know your name?”

“Ava… Ava Sharpe.”

“Alright, Miss Sharpe, do you know where you are?”

She looks around. The last place she remembered was the  _ blue place  _ which is no doubt not the answer that he's looking for.

“The side of the road?”

The officer lets out a small chuckle at that, “Well, at least your sense of humor is in tact. Can you tell me who the president is?”

“Reagan,” she says easily, though the officers blank look tells her that wasn't right. The voice in her head whispers hundreds of names at once, too many, not in the right order. Not in the right time. Ava squeezes her eyes shut for a moment trying to focus, “No, shit, sorry Bush? Or is it Clinton? It's not Obama yet so - it must be Bush, right?”

The concerned look only increases.

Something she supposed that she deserves.

_ Lie  _ the voice in the back of her head tells her, so she smiles sort and unsure, at the officer above her, “I think I might have hit my head.”

 

*

 

She scrubs at her hands, over and over again, endlessly, as though that will remove any trace the blood that had been coating them moments before.

As if that will remove the evidence of what she’s done.

It has, technically.

Her hands are red not from blood now, but from scrubbing them over and over again. Trying to wash it away. Trying to wash all of this away. 

The water has long since finished running red in the sink, pooling around the drain where she’ll have to scrub it out before leaving the bathroom. She’s done this before. Knows by now what needs to be done, not to garner the suspicion of her roommates.

And yet she still feels the need to scrub at her hands.

As if that makes any difference.

A knock at the door jolts Ava from her ritualistic cleaning, one of her roommates asking what was taking so long. 

“Just a minute,” Ava calls out, reaching up to turn off the water, and chancing a glance at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes are bloodshot, puffy and red from tears that she couldn’t explain her reason for shedding, her lipstick is smudged on the corner of her mouth where the other woman had - just before - before she -

“Ava! Hurry up! I need to pee!”

She scrubs her wet hand over her lips, the remains of her lipstick like blood staining the back of her hand all over again, “I told you just a minute!”

 

*

 

_ They’re here _ .

She’s not exactly certain who  _ they  _ are, but the voice in her head sems to know. The same way it had known to take her to that  _ witch  _ \- to Nora - who smiled at her with a smile that made Ava’s stomach turn each time their paths crossed. The same way it had taken her to people time and time again - time travelers in blue suits that sometimes looked at her with recognition as if they’d known this was coming the second they arrived. 

These are different.

She looks out at the gathered crowd of sports fans, celebrating in the streets a riotous victory for a sport that Ava only half understands.

Why a group of time travelers would pick here and now of all places is beyond her, and yet -

Ava scans the crowd, the too large borrowed  _ Red Wings  _ jersey sliding down over her shoulder, awkward in the crowd celebrating in the street. She’d lost the friends that had pulled her out of her comfort zone and into the city streets. Lost all sense of anything when the voice started speaking, shouting about  _ them _ .

Her eyes settle on two people in the crowd, they’d look like any other fans, if she didn’t know better. A blonde in a red sweater, a fighters stance as she jostles through the crowd, while a man that seems to be twice her side in both height and width pushes them a path a scowl on his face but the undercurrent of something like fire there.

She doesn’t know them.

But she feels like she should.

Like she one day will. 

The woman turns in the crowd, catches Ava’s eyes for just a moment, and she sees it, the same look she’s seen hundred of times before, the flicker of something like recognition before she gives into what Mallus demands of her. 

Only this time the voice says something different, a distinct echo, loud over the celebrating crowd,  _ Not yet _ . 

She doesn't realize then how much of a mistake listening to that voice will be.

But it's the start.

 

*

 

“Agent Sharpe, funny finding you here.” 

She tilts her head up towards the sky, the rain falling down over her. She’s not entirely certain where  _ here  _ is. It’s always changing. More and more often now. She wakes in the blue place, the place Mallus keeps just for her, more days than she can count. 

Wakes again in another world, another time, far from home. 

She’s stopped trying to question it.

Stopped trying to wash the blood off of her hands. 

“Not Agent,” she tells him, the man in the suit, the man who shares Nora’s smile, “Not yet.” 

“No,” he agrees, “Not yet.” 

She ignores him.

Doesn’t know why he’s there. Doesn’t care. She just closes her eyes again, lets the rain pour down, and waits until Mallus takes her back to the blue place again. It never takes long. The moments of lucidity, slipping fewer and far inbetween. 

 

*

 

His name is Rip Hunter.

And he’s recruiting for an organization that’s meant to save time.

A bureaucratic solution to time travel.

Basically a load of bullshit.

But Mallus wants her there. 

So she twists her hair up into a bun, twenty bobby pins poking into her scalp, makeup that is mature and refined, neutral colors on her lips not red like blood, a suit that is slightly ill fit, just enough to look humble. 

Call it what you will.

Fate.

Destiny.

The path Mallus had always chosen for her. 

A background made of forged papers, records forged in  _ time  _ itself.

“Miss Sharpe, I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to become more than what you are.”

She barely bites down the urge to retort back that she already is  _ so much more  _ than he knows. Barely resists the urge to cut him off, when he describes time travel in vague terms, understanding time in the way that only a traveler can, not a deep knowledge like she has. 

A knowledge that runs through her very viens. 

The voice tells her to  _ lie  _ and to  _ play nice  _ so she does.

She smiles, a little hesitant, a look that says she’s concerned with the sanity of the man sitting in front of her, not vibrating with anxious energy of having finally been given the opening that she had been waiting for. 

“I must admit,” she lies with practiced ease, “It does sound a little hard to believe.”

 

*

 

She gets a blue suit of her own.

With that same little pin that she’s carried around for years.

A Time Bureau Agent. 

No wonder they’d looked at her with familiarity. 

It’s hard to keep it in, the laugh that bubbles up in her throat, as she looks in the mirror at the woman she’s become. A shadow of her true self, a woman in a well pressed pantsuit, who follows the rules and doesn’t believe in any truth that she cannot see with her own two eyes, despite literally being a time traveler.

She reinvents herself. 

Reinvents  _ Ava Shape _ , here in a year far enough from the one she left, that nobody remembers the police reports of the girl who’d lost her whole family in a tragic car accident, or the college student who woke up in the woods with blood staining her white dress. 

She becomes a new person. Who likes to keep things in order. Who keeps well organized file folders. Who finds paperwork soothing. Who takes notes during meetings. Who drinks her coffee black. Who goes home each night to an empty apartment and a netflix account. Who puts pineapple on her pizza. Who is a cat person.

The cat doesn’t trust her.

She doesn’t blame it.

Doesn’t much trust it either.

The only reason she’d gotten the thing was to keep up appearances of a normal human being. She pours too much food into its bowl before leaving in the morning, watches the thing quickly skirt around the corner, avoiding spending too long in her presence.

As if it can sense the darkness that lingers inside of her.

That spills out when she’s not paying attention.

That spills out sometimes even when she is.  

She adjusts her suit once more, a suit that she’s seen covered in blood on so many other bodies, too many times to count. The voice in the back of her mind laughs along with her. Holds it inside. The most cruel of irony. 

When the cat hisses at her as she passes it’s bowl on her way out, Ava supposes that she deserves that.

 

*

 

There are times when Mallus demands things of her.

Demands that Ava uses her position, her vast access to files on all of time to research things for him. Things that Ava doesn’t always understand the significance of. Events that don’t seem to matter, that don’t seem particularly connect, and yet to the voice in the back of her head seem to matter.

This is one of those instances.

_ The Legends _ . 

The team that Rip Hunter had been with prior to forming the Time Bureau.

She recognizes two of them in the pictures. From Detroit, what feels like a lifetime ago. She rubs her thumb over the image of the screen, the woman - Sara Lance - who had looked at her for too long through the crowd.

There’s something about her.

Something that stirs a feeling inside of Ava that she cannot explain.

She knows with certainty that one day Mallus will ask her to kill this woman, and Ava has never denied anything of him before, and yet… As she stares at the picture of the woman on her screen. She cannot help but wonder why a part of her is already sick at the notion of harming her. 

It's a curious sensation.

 

*

 

“You’ve gathered quite an interest in the Legends.”

“You’ve noticed,” she says, making sure to keep her voice smooth and unaffected. 

She watches him, watches for signs of suspicion on Director Hunter’s face, watches for signs that he  _ knows  _ about what lurks deep inside of her, what has always lurked there. But his face does not show distrust of her. Instead, his trust in her only seems to grow with each passing moment. 

“I couldn’t not,” he replies.

Carefully, like he’s choosing his words.

Like he’s testing her.

Everyone is always testing her.

“I simply wished to learn more about the  _ idiots  _ that broke all of time,” Ava insists, “As to not make the same mistakes.”

He nods at that.

Once, then twice.

An oddly hesitant thing.

Before he says, “I have a position, an opportunity for promotion if you will, that you might be interested in.”

_ Finally _ , the voice in her head says. 

Shouts.

Demands.

She thinks that this must be fate. 

“What sort of opportunity?”

 

*

Not killing her is a mistake.

Ava knows this, the second her gun is pulled from her hand.

But the voice in her head had said to wait.

Had insisted that now was not the moment and Ava -

Ava is left staring at a woman that she feels as though she should know. A woman who she has read about in facts and files and paperwork, research that Mallus had demanded of her. A woman who broke all of time and had in doing so given her  _ master  _ the opportunity to slip forth from that blue realm that Ava knew all too well. 

A woman that is going to ruin her.

Ava knows this.

Knows this in the mocking twist of her lips.

The teasing way she acts, standing there, so casual not even realizing her place in those whole elaborate chess match. 

A pawn pretending at being a  _ queen _ . 

“Well then,” Sara turns that smirk on Ava. “I guess you must have missed one.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

 

*

 

He’s drunk.

She can smell it on him, as he lingers in her doorway. A little shifty, checking over his shoulder as though he thinks that he’s being followed.

Not knowing that he’s standing right in front of the very thing he’s running from. 

“Agent Sharpe, you’re one of the few agents that I truly trust,” Rip says, swaying a little. It’s taken him a lot to even get to this point. She’s shocked that he managed it. 

Shocked that he would come to her.

Then again, a part of her isn’t.

She’s worked hard to create the persona of  _ Agent Sharpe, loyal protector of time _ . The type of person that Rip Hunter would trust. 

“Have you ever heard of Mallus?”

_ Yes. _

She feels it, the shaking in her fingertips, the surge of power, the urge to kill, to erase all evidence, to take the opportunity presented before her. This is what she’s been waiting for, an opportunity, a moment where Director Hunter was unguarded before her.

And yet - 

Something stops her.

Not the voice in her head, something of her own nature, of her own will. Something that Ava hasn’t truly felt since she was six years old. 

She clenches her hands into fists, nails digging into her palm, to quell the shaking and the urge. 

Before adopting the most disbelieving look she can manage, a small fake laugh tumbling from her lips, “That’s just an old wives tale. A ghost story you tell at the academy to scare new recruits.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

 

*

 

Ava has ever reason to hate Sara.

She’s incompetent.

She’s annoying.

She seems to thrive on making Ava uncomfortable, getting under her skin.  

And yet - she grows on Ava, much like a fungus.

A plague. 

A distraction.

Settling deep in her bones.

In a place that only one other  _ thing  _ has ever occupied before. 

She’s supposed to die. Ava knows this. The same way that she knows it will rain on Tuesday, that the Eagles will win the Superbowl, that Gary will forget to turn in his weekly reports again. 

She can see the lines of fate.

She can see all the paths of time. 

The truth, as Mallus wills it, as Mallus has always willed it.

And yet, for once she wants to change that fate.

“What if -,” she speaks, out into the emptiness of her apartment, to the cat that still skirts around her in nervousness, to the voice that has always been in the back of her mind, that always hears her, “What if I could recruit Captain Lance to our side?” 

The voice in her head simply insists,  _ That’s not possible. _

 

*

 

What she feels for Sara is complicated.

_ Forbidden _ .

She can’t help it.

She doesn’t want to. 

Taking Sara from Mallus is a transgression that will not easily be forgiven. She knows this. Knows it the second she reaches between the realms, into the blue place that she’s known familiar since she was a child. Taking rather than receiving.

A choice.

One that she knows that she will be made to regret.

And yet a choice that she would make again, if it meant seeing the way that Sara looked at her, with wonder in her eyes, like she was something good and pure, something worth fighting for.

Nobody have ever looked at her like that before.

“You came back.”

“It’s like you said, you needed me.” 

In that moment, the pain that is to come doesn’t matter, the inevitable punishment that will await her.

Nothing matters but Sara. 

 

*

 

It hurts.

Endless pain.

Like every bone in her body is breaking.

Like her blood has turned to fire.

Like her soul is being torn from her body.

She thinks, somewhere there in the haze, in a world that is black and blue and nothing in between, an infinite scream trapped on her lips, that it was worth it. 

_ It was worth it.  _

It’s the first time she’s ever questioned him, questioned Mallus, the voice that has always been there inside her head guiding her down the path that it had insisted was her destiny, the path that he had made for her. 

Perhaps there was another path.

A path that hadn’t been considered before now. 

Perhaps he should have let her kill that woman long ago, in the crowded streets, or in the Time Bureau lobby, or in a collision of two ships in the temporal zone. 

Perhaps that would have changed things.

Then again, perhaps  _ this  _ was her fate.

 

*

 

“You look like shit,” Sara says, the next time she sees her.

Ava doesn’t blame her for the assessment. 

There’s dark shadows under her eyes.

A sickness in her stomach.

An ache deep in her bones,

A numbness in her fingertips

None of which she can even begin to explain. 

Ava grimaces, the usual one, the practiced  _ Ava Shape dealing with the Legends  _ grimace, and says, “Did you come here just to insult me? Or was there something actually relevant that you had to say?”

Sara pauses considering that before she says, “I’m worried about you.”

 

*

 

When she comes back to herself in the shower, and there’s blood on her hands. 

Blood on the suit that she’s still wearing.

Blood that pools in the water at her feet.

Blood leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

She doesn’t even know what day it is. 

What year it is.

She doesn’t even know -

 

*

 

“Oh fuck it.”

Sara kisses her. A hand behind her neck, pulling her down, where Ava goes willingly, easily, because she wants this as she’s wanted so few other things in her life.

Sara’s lips are soft against hers. Warm. Parting easily, opening, welcoming Ava in, deepening the kiss with need and desire.

A desire that Ava feels deep inside of herself. 

A desire that has been building up for far too long.

She lets herself enjoy it for a moment, giving in to the sensation. Imagining that she is allowed to have this. That she is allowed to be happy. That she is a normal person, kissing the woman that she loves, in the middle of a battlefield. Imagines that this story might have a happy ending.

But it doesn’t.

Ava knows that.

She’s the villain in this story.

She’s always been.

Suddenly, kissing Sara doesn’t seem right.

She stills, pulling back a moment later. There’s confusion in Sara’s eyes when they meet, and regret too -  _ regret,  _ one of the few things that Ava had never thought that she could feel until now. 

“I -” Ava starts, the words sticking in her throat, “We shouldn’t-”

“Why not?”

And isn’t that the million dollar question.

The one thing that Ava can’t answer. 

How does she explain that this - that  _ loving Sara  _ \- is doomed, and will only be used against her, by the very force that Sara believes herself to be fighting against.

There’s so much she doesn’t know.

So much Ava can’t explain. 

“Why not,” Sara presses again, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Ava kisses her, and tells herself that it’s only to get Sara to stop asking questions that she cannot answer. 

It’s a lie.

 

*

 

“I don’t think your cat likes me.”

“He doesn’t like me much either,” Ava admits. 

They’re laying in bed together, watching the cat hissing at them from the other side of the room. It’s almost innocent. Almost like something from another life. A moment of domestic bliss, one of the few that she has. 

The other moments are becoming more and more common - the blue moments, the ones where the world tilts to the side, the ones where she forgets who she is. 

Who is she anyways?

Ava doesn’t even know anymore.

Maybe she never knew.

But here, in bed with Sara, the light of the sunrise casting soft orange hues over Sara’s exposed skin, a basking glow of warmth surrounding them. The one good thing that Ava’s ever been allowed to have, the one thing she’s taken for herself. 

Stolen and hidden away.

Her little secret.

Like a pin kept in her pocket from a dead man that she now would recognize anywhere.

It hurts still.

The pain coming more and more often.

Punishing her for this indulgence. 

But when Sara rises up in the bed, blocking the sunrise with her body, as she moves to kiss Ava once more, it’s easy to ignore the pounding in her head, and the voice that demands sacrifice once more. 

 

*

 

“Ava, what are you doing here?”

It was always a ticking time bomb.

Always a moment that couldn’t last.

Inevitable. 

Ava closes her eyes, as she had as a child, as if that would take her away from the blue place and back to the real world. 

It doesn’t work, not this time, and when she opens her eyes they’re still there.

In the blue tinted reflection of Sara’s office. 

The newest addition to her own personal hell. 

The lie sits heavy and wrong on her tongue, as she pretends she cannot see the way the world has changed around them, letting Sara believe this was all in her mind, “I don’t what you’re talking about.” 

 

*

 

“Agent Sharpe has always been one of our master’s most  _ loyal  _ servants,” Darhk says. 

Because of course he is the one to out her. 

Here.

In the battlefield.

In the end.

Ava keeps her arm steady, the gun in her hand pointed at Sara. She ignores the pained look on the face of the woman she  _ loves _ , ignores the way her soul aches, not from Mallus control anymore but from longing.

From regret.

She knew this was coming.

Knew this from the first moment their eyes met.

Before she even knew who Sara was. 

Before she even knew what she could feel.

“Ava-”

“This is fate,” Ava tells her. 

The words she’s told herself for years. 

“This has always been our fate.” 

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?

She welcomes the blue fog when it slips over her. The feeling of relinquishing control. Of giving herself over to Mallus as she always has, a loyal bishop right up until the end, even if she’d fallen for the opponents  _ queen _ . 

Mallus had always been the one in control of the board.

She can’t kill Sara, she cannot bring herself to pull the trigger, but Mallus can keep fate on track.

Mallus always has. 

The voice in her head tells her to _let go_ , and _that it will be_ _easier now._

The voice is right.

The voice is always right.

This will be easier. 

Before the fog slips over she hears something, a roar, an echo, a voice different from the one in the back of her head, a voice like clarity for the first time in years, “Because, I love you, and I'm not willing to lose you.” 

 

*

 

She wakes.

Not in fog.

Not in the blue realm of Mallus.

But on Waverider. In the cube like prison. Locked away where she can’t hurt anyone.

Her body hurts.

Her head hurts.

But the voice is gone, quiet for a moment, and there’s no blood on her hands.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the blinding light and tries to remember, the last thing she could. The last moment. It’s all a blur. Blue and pained. Flashes behind her eyelids. 

The last thing she remembers with clarity is the heavy weight of her gun in her hand and - “Sara!”

The name comes out as a desperate noise from her lips, weak and pained, hurting, because the last thing she’d heard was Sara’s voice. The last thing she’d known was the time had fated Sara to die once more, this time for the last. 

“Sara!”

She needs to know.

She needs to - 

She can feel her eyes burning. Her whole body burning. But there’s no voice in her head to comfort her. No voice in her head to insist that this is what she deserves. Just a cold emptiness. That stretches on forever.

And fear.

Fear that she might have killed the only person that’s ever truly mattered to her.

She's never felt so alone.

“Sa-”

“I’m here,” comes a voice that Ava hadn’t been certain she would ever hear again.

A voice, that belongs to a woman that looks at her with betrayal and hurt and maybe a hint of  _ hope  _ in those familiar blue eyes. That is too close and too far away all at once. That Ava was willing to sacrifice it all for. That Ava may just have, if only she could remember it right. 

“You were working for Mallus this whole time, since the beginning.”

It’s a statement.

Not a question.

They both know the truth.

“Since I was a child,” Ava confirms. “He promised me knowledge and truth and I was too young to know better.”

She does not say that she didn’t have a choice.

She must have.

Once.

Even if she did not remember it now.

Sara purses her lips together in consideration, seemingly to analyze her, analyze everything that there is to know about Ava. Everything there has been and ever will be. Ava does not flinch under her gaze. She stands tall. Stares right back into those eyes. Eyes that she could spend the rest of her life staring into, if only she was granted that privilege. 

“Give me one reason, why I should ever trust you again?”

A part of her wants to say that there is none.

To insist that she deserves this.

That she deserves to die.

Another part of her knows that Sara Lance had changed her.

That perhaps  _ that  _ was her real fate.

“Because loving you gave me a reason to fight back against him.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 


End file.
